


You Already Know

by Larrydrarryklaine



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Blow Jobs, Chaptered, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Football Player Harry, Football | Soccer, Hand Jobs, High School, Homophobia, Jock Harry, Long, M/M, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Pool Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, larry stylinson - Freeform, lilo, soooooo much miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrydrarryklaine/pseuds/Larrydrarryklaine
Summary: Harry is a popular footie player, Louis is not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I found unfinished on my computer from a couple years back. I'm not very interested in 1D, or fanfiction anymore but I thought I'd finish and share this for everyone who might still be into it/just discovering it. I'm prayin for all of you.

“It’s been weeks since I’ve gotten drunk, mate. And I think I deserve a little time off, don’t you?” Niall squawks from where he is perched on his knees atop Harry’s desk, bending his back and twisting his neck so his face is inches from Harry’s own. Harry imagines that in any other friendship the positioning would cause unwanted sexual tension, yet all Harry feels is an oncoming headache and an overwhelming stench of Cheeto-breath.

“So why don’t you throw your own fucking party?” Harry leans back in his too straight, too hard, typical ‘school chair,’ shoving up the sleeves of his jacket in frustration. “I’m always the one throwing parties, and I think I deserve a little time off.”

“Harry, please!”

“Mr. Horan!” An old, scratchy voice belts out. “I said you could work in partners, not use my room as a jungle gym!” Mrs. Johansen waddles over as she shouts and glares at the Irish boy over the thin wire frames of her glasses. Niall scuttles gracelessly over the edge of the desk and plops himself into the chair he had been sitting in before he had decided that a closer proximity to Harry might be just the thing to convince him.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johansen. It’s just that the way you teach gets me so excited sometimes, I can hardly contain myself!” The plump woman simply groans and rolls her eyes before shuffling back to her desk. Harry snorts slightly at the dumb look of false admiration on Niall’s munchkin-like face.

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” Zayn mutters more to himself than anyone else, a smile playing on his thin lips.

“So what if am, Malik? I’ve got two years left to be a teenager! I should be livin’ it up every chance I get!” He turns slightly towards Harry with an expectant grin on his face.

“No.”

“Why not?” Niall asks with an overly dramatic look of disappointment on his face, it’s difficult to imagine when exactly Harry became so attached to this overgrown child.

“Because I’m tired, Niall! You and I have football practice every weekday; we have games coming up that we both need to be in top form for, and excuse me for not wanting to fail any of my fucking classes this year! I don’t have the time or energy to throw you a party every time you get a little restless…” Harry draws in an exhausted breath. “I don’t know what you find so appealing about them anyways; it’s the same bullshit, the same mess, every single time… nothing new ever happens and I’m always the only one left to clean up everyone else’s mess.”

“Please, Harry! You won’t have to put any effort into it I swear!” Niall pleads as though he hadn’t heard a word that just came out of Harry’s mouth. “I just need your house, you’re the only person in school who has a big enough place, and your parents are never home!”

“Niall.” Zayn whispers harshly from where he had been watching silently. “Watch the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, yeah?” Zayn had been the first and only person that Harry had ever opened up to about his home life. How after Gemma went off to University his parents’ marriage went to shit, how his mother remarried with some posh asshole who cheated on her throughout the whole thing, how her second divorce left her and Harry with enough money to buy a home with too many empty rooms and echoing halls on a street where every other house looks exactly the same, and how now Harry is left alone while his mum leaves for work before he wakes up and spends her evenings alone in the master bedroom with a bottle of red wine.

Harry doesn’t remember much of actually saying these things to Zayn, just remembers crying. He remembers crying and then swinging his fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum, accidentally punching Zayn in the mouth out of frustration. Harry doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a friend like Zayn.

“I’m sorry.” Niall mutters sincerely in Harry’s general direction, he just nods and stares at his knuckles in return.

“It’s just…” And Harry internally rolls his eyes at both Niall and himself. At Niall for not understanding that if there ever was a perfect time to just fucking drop it, now would be it, and at himself for ever thinking that Niall Horan might know when to shut his trap. “I really need an opportunity to get Eleanor wasted and naked.”

Zayn snorts at him and flings a few eraser shavings off his desk and into the blonde’s lap. “Eleanor Calder?”

“Yeah, you know her?” Niall’s face lights up slightly and his eyebrows rise mischievously. “Aw she’s fit, isn’t she? And I haven’t gotten laid all year! My senior year!”

“Niall, it’s September.”

“Exactly! I’m really off my game this year, it isn’t right! Harry, please, if you could find some sort of pity in your cold, dead heart and let me screw Eleanor in your house…” And if Harry has to backtrack into what has just been asked of him for a moment it certainly is not because thoughts of a particular pixie sized friend of Eleanor Calder’s never seem to allow Harry to focus.

“Okay.” Harry mutters, cringing slightly at how wrong his thoughts have been lately as his mind already works on convincing himself that he’s agreeing to do this for any reason other than… that.

“Really?” Both Niall and Zayn exclaim in unison (Niall with a dopey grin and Zayn with a slight frown).

As the bell signaling the beginning of lunch rings and they all stand and gather their things Harry leans over and speaks before he can change his mind. “You’re buying and cleaning everything, I’m not lifting a finger.”

Niall plants a sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek and runs down the hall, as the curly haired boy wonders if the bathroom sinks are deep enough for him to drown himself in.

…

Louis scowls at the food, if you could call it food, that had just been unceremoniously plopped down onto his Styrofoam tray by a large man who should probably be forced to wear hairnets around his forearms. He mutters out a small ‘thank you’ none the less, after all it’s not the poor cafeteria man’s fault that the food resembles what an actual meal might look like after being put into a blender, or that his arms remind Louis of extremely large caterpillars. After paying for his meal Louis steps out into the school’s cafeteria and feels his scowl deepen at the all the familiar faces. The adjustment from Summer to Autumn is always difficult for him, and this year is no better than all the others. Perhaps it’s even worse considering that this is Louis’ final year of attending public school against his will, and all he ever wants to do is set all his uncomfortable school uniforms ablaze and begin a new life of actually being invited to social gatherings and making out with hot Uni boys. Louis breathes a quiet sigh of hopeful contentment, the air around him reeking of refried beans and teenage angst.

He makes his way to one of the quieter corners of the cafeteria where, basically, one half of his entire social life is sitting with his nose shoved in a book.

“Hey, Liam.” Louis sighs as he sits. Liam nods in return. “What ‘cha reading?” Liam raises a finger, signaling for Louis to wait.

“… But he could not catch at one, he could not rest on one,” Liam reads from a tattered copy of ‘Crime and Punishment’ in an exaggerated Russian accent, causing Louis to snort at his scrunched nose. “in spite of all his efforts…” He closes the book slowly and bows as Louis applauds him.

“Bravo! Bravo!” 

“Thank you, my fine sir.” Liam smirks and Louis responds with the friendliest smile he could possibly muster up. Liam has always had a crush on Louis, ever since the day Louis tripped in grade school and wound up with a massive amount of glitter glue clumped in his hair. That day the teacher had Liam take the crying boy to the bathroom where they spent hours attempting to remove it all (Louis swears there is still a chunk or two of blue glitter wedged in his hair somewhere). Ever since then Liam has always been a little too happy when Louis walks into the room, and a little too eager to please whenever Louis is too lazy to do something for himself. Louis has never felt the same, but can’t see the harm in keeping that hidden from Liam. It’s quite nice to have someone constantly fawning over him and to have one person besides his mum to tell him he looks nice. Louis’ just not ready to give that up.

After a few minutes of the two of them cracking jokes and tossing bits of ‘food’ at one another Louis begins to notice the absence of something.

“Where’s El?” Louis asks as he mentally kicks himself for not noticing sooner. He feels slightly better after Liam appears surprised by his question.

“I don’t know… She was here earlier, I know she’s in school.” As though summoned by their conversation, a tan girl with wavy brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail pushes her way into the cafeteria. Louis notices the differences before he notices anything else. Her cheeks look as though she had just been slapped with how red they are, she has this little spring in her step like she’s trying her hardest to reach the table before she explodes, and she’s smiling. Fucking smiling. One of the very first things that had made Louis and Eleanor such close friends was a matching, nearly constant, look of hatred on both of their faces. Seeing such joy light up all her features is, frankly, disturbing.

As El nears the table and comes into Liam’s point of view his face crinkles in confusion as well. The two boys share an almost worried glance (Louis’ tinged with annoyance and Liam’s with almost fatherly concern) before coming back to stare at her as she sits.

“Guess what!” She shrieks as she grips onto Louis’ bicep with the fucking talons she calls nails biting into his flesh. Louis internally winces but looks at her expectantly so as not to spoil her mood.

“What?” Liam asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer.

“Niall fucking Horan just asked me to go to a party with him!” She stomps her feet with excitement as she talks. “It’s gonna be at Harry Styles’ house, oh my God, can you believe it?”

“What?” Louis asks, dumbfounded by the fact that anyone in that social circle would stoop so low off their throne and acknowledge anyone in his.

“Okay…” She lets go of his arm and steadies herself slightly. “Here’s what happened. I was walking to lunch when Niall ran up to me and grabbed my arm and was all ‘Hey babe there’s gonna be a party at Harry’s place on Friday, it’ d make me really happy if you could come.’ So, you know, obviously I said yes. Oh! Holy shit, oh my God I can’t believe I almost forgot, while I was saying yes to Niall, Harry walked up and-”

“He did?” Louis feels his skin heat up at the thought of Harry Styles ever speaking with of one of his friends. In the background Louis swears he sees Liam rolling his eyes.

“Yeah!” Eleanor squeals. “He walked up and was all,” she hunches over slightly, her voice slowing and deepening into a crude impression of the taller boy. “‘Make sure you bring your friends’ oh my God you two have to come with me!”

“No way in hell.” Liam scoffs at the idea.

“Come on, Li!” El’s face drops in disappointment.

“No! I don’t like this at all, none of them have ever spoken to any of us before and now they’re all of a sudden inviting us out like we’re all best buddies? I don’t trust them, they’re bad news.”

“Oh you’ve always been such a goody-goody. It’s not the fifties, jocks and theater kids can speak to one another without the world ending.” El rolls her eyes at Liam and turns to grip Louis’ now sweaty palms. “You’ll come with me, right Lou?” She bats her eyelashes at him as he glances between her pleading stare and Liam’s disapproving gaze.

“Harry really said he wanted you to bring friends?” Louis asks and she nods vigorously. “O-okay, I’ll go with you.”

“You mean it?” She asks with a wide grin as Liam lets out a huff of air.

“Yeah, I wanna come. I wanna see if Harry’s house is really as big as Bill Gates’.” Eleanor squeals and hugs him tightly, whispering endless thanks in his ear, as he attempts to swallow his nerves.

Harry is just a boy and Louis knows that. Harry is just a boy with perfectly styled hair, and incredibly sexy tattoos, and a star position on the best footie team around, and he will never ever want Louis, because Louis really is just a boy. And even if Harry weren’t straight, why would he want Louis? He could have anyone he wanted, why would he pick the quiet boy with two friends, who has a layer of baby fat that never goes away no matter how many sit ups he attempts, and has to use his little sisters’ step stool to reach the cups in his own kitchen. He just wouldn’t, plain and simple.

Just then the large metal doors of the cafeteria swing open and it’s as though every head turns at once to stare as the epitome of high school royalty saunters into the crowded room.

They arrive in what appears to be slow motion, and maybe Louis’ gone crazy but he swears he can hear a chorus of angels singing as Niall, Zayn, and Harry all walk in the direction of a table situated far enough away from their own that Louis can watch without being caught. Just as Harry situates himself in the uncomfortable plastic of the cafeteria chair a too tall and too skinny girl, clad in a red and white cheerleading uniform, struts by and plops herself in his lap. Louis groans internally just as Harry smiles at the sight of his longtime girlfriend, Cara. The smaller boy averts his gaze in order to evade the sight of their inevitable, extremely public, snogging.

“Do you think Cara will be at the party?” Eleanor asks as she gazes at the couple over Louis’ shoulders.

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t be.” Liam mumbles from behind the book he has begun to read once more as Louis feels a new wave of defeat wash over him. With Cara at the party Louis can already feel the nearly zero percent chance he had of ever talking to Harry slipping out between his fingers.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Louis huffs tiredly as he stalks out of the cafeteria, leaving both his food and friends behind, and unknowingly causing a certain pair of green eyes to follow his path with blown out pupils.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P O R N

“Sick party, mate!” Niall jumps excitedly besides Harry as the curly haired boy sips slowly at a drink he thinks might actually be piss. “Fuckin’ sick party!”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles as his eyes scan over his living room, the space crowded with sweaty bodies and pumping bass, from his spot in the corner for what might be the hundredth time.

“Oh come on, Harry! Cheer up! I know you’re bummed that Cara couldn’t make it, but that doesn’t have to ruin the whole night.” Harry’s eyes widen slightly at that because he hadn’t known Cara couldn’t make it, hadn’t thought about Cara all night in fact. And although he does feel a pang of shame for not knowing that the girl he’s been dating since year fucking seven isn’t at his party, it’s easy to ignore because of the shiver of excitement he can feel running down the length of his spine.

“You know what, Niall?” Harry smirks over the rim of his glass. “You’re right, I’m gonna have good time tonight.” Niall’s sweat-shiny face lights up at that, and he lands the taller boy with a sharp slap on the back.

“Atta-boy!” And with that he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of bodies and booze. From off to the side Harry can see Zayn walking out of the room and toward the front door, followed by a trail of cloudy smoke, and normally Harry would yell at him for smoking inside of his house but tonight he just can’t seem to bring himself to care.

He watches as the skinnier boy opens the door, only to stop and take a few steps back as the door opens wider. Harry’s cheeks redden and his eyes nearly pop out of his head as Louis (Pixie, Kitten, Real Life fucking Prince) Tomlinson walks in wearing a large white sweater and a pair of red jeans that had to have been painted onto his thick thighs and, yeah. Harry definitely doesn’t care tonight.

….

 

Harry decides to wait before he strikes. He watches Louis from afar the entire night, sees as the girl he came in with (Elliot?) abandons him to go grind obscenely with Niall somewhere in the crowd that’s probably tracking dirt all over his mother’s favorite rug, and continues to stare as the smaller boy glances around looking lost and nervous for a few moments before making his way into the kitchen where Harry is about ninety percent sure Zayn made him the cocktail he came walking out with. Harry smirks from where he’s sitting now, watching as Louis swallows down the last mouthful of his drink, swaying slightly. Now it is perfectly reasonable to say that Louis may have just been dancing, but if Harry had to guess he’d say that the alcohol Louis had taken, maybe, fifteen minutes to drink had been his very first, and that coupled with Louis’ small size and young age made him more than a little tipsy. Harry can’t help but chuckle slightly to himself at the innocent and confused way Louis mumbles to himself as he rocks back and forth next to the large staircase alone. And Harry feels the same feeling of shame that’s been festering in the pit of his stomach all night begin to grow as he stands and starts walking in Louis’ direction, but it’s only the gentlemanly thing to do, right? To help someone while they’re too weak and vulnerable to help themselves? Of course it is, Harry reasons, besides Harry’s mum raised him to be nothing if not a perfect gentleman.

As Harry nears closer to Louis’ tiny figure the smaller boy glances up, and blushes as glassy blue eyes make direct contact with green and vivid ones. The larger boy’s confident stride falters slightly as his knees go numb.

“Louis, right?” He asks as his feet come to a stop less than a foot in front of the other boy’s. Louis’ eyes widen as he looks up and Harry can’t help the grin that stretches out his lips at the look of shock resting in his holy features. He mumbles something quiet in response and Harry leans forwards, turning an ear towards him. “What was that, love?”

And maybe Harry’s already starting to push it a little, he doesn’t know if Louis is even… into this sort of thing for Christ’s sake, but the way he blushes and begins to draw patterns on the floor with his feet makes it more than a little worthwhile.

“Yeah… My name’s Louis.”

“And the girl you came with?”

“Eleanor?” Harry makes a mental note of that one.

“Yeah, where’s she?”

“Oh… she’s uh, she’s dancing.” Louis looks down as though he were embarrassed.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her, now is it? Leaving you here all alone, I mean.” Louis’ blush darkens and Harry feels like it must be painful for him with how red he’s gotten (Harry’s surprised his own face hasn’t burst into flames yet, even more surprised at the confidence in his voice when he thinks he might vomit on Louis’ shoes). He begins to respond with something but sways a little too far to the right, throwing off his balance and nearly falling over before Harry’s arm swoops out to catch him.

“Jesus,” Harry laughs breathily as he sets Louis upright again. “You alright? You seem a little far gone there…”

“I-I’m okay…” Louis stutters, voice thick with embarrassment. “Just a little sleepy is all, just sleepy.”

“Lemme help you upstairs then,” Harry offers a maybe a little too eagerly. “You can get some rest in my bed.”

“You don’t mind?” The smaller boy asks, and Harry responds by placing his large hands over his shoulders and turning him in the direction of the stairs. Harry doesn’t miss the way his fingers are easily able to curve over the small arc of Louis’ shoulders and he stores that mental image away in his brain because fuck.

The trip to his room takes much longer than usual, with the combination of a clumsy Louis and a suddenly (and slightly overwhelmingly) nervous Harry. Add all that to the fact that Harry has to constantly glance around them to make sure the two aren’t being watched or followed and you add an extra three minutes to the journey up a flight of stairs and around a corner. Harry double checks that he locked his bedroom door behind them maybe four times.

“Huge.” Louis mumbles to seemingly no one, until he turns around and smiles in Harry’s direction. “This room is huge. Huge room for a huge boy, eh? You’re bloody huge.”

“Am I?” Harry asks, thankful that he can still pull out his usual charm with ease. “That hurts my feelings, Lou.” And he falters just as easily, Lou. A nickname, a pet name. He’s spoken to the boy one time, one fucking time, and he’s already using nicknames. It’s gross, Harry is gross. Louis doesn’t seem bothered by it though, in fact he giggles as the word tumbles from Harry’s lips. 

“Good kinda huge,” He stumbles forward and circles his arms around Harry’s neck. “I like tall boys.” And, okay. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.

Louis trips then, on what Harry will never know. But it happens, and he falls on him, and the way Harry pulls him in for support, and the way their bodies align, and oh. That’s different. That’s really, really fucking different because in the place of a thin pair of leggings or an already halfway pulled down cheerleading skirt is a tight pair of jeans. And maybe that’s not so strange but the semi-hard cock against his own definitely is.

Harry’s hands begin to tremble as he brings them down slowly to wrap around Louis’ hips, and he prays silently that his instincts are right when he slots one of his thighs between Louis’ and pushes it upwards.

“Oh,” Prayers answered.

“Louis,” Harry mutters in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own as his cock swells to full hardness at an alarming rate. Damn these hormones and damn Louis’ jeans for being so tight. “Louis, do you think you could do something for me, babe?”

“Uh-huh.” Louis mumbles into the side of his neck and Harry’s dick twitches at the eagerness in his breathy tone as well as the way he bounces slightly on his thigh.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, love?” And Louis freezes.

“I’ve…” He pulls away from the spot where Harry’s shoulder meets neck and stares up into mossy green eyes. “I’ve never done that before, I don’t kn-”

“That’s fine.” Harry’s quick to soothe because God damn it he’s been waiting for this exact moment for what feels like his entire life and he’s not about to let it all go to waste because of a little bout of nerves (Louis’ or his own). “That’s fine, just get down there and I’ll help you out.”

Louis stares up at him and for a moment Harry thinks he’s going to bolt before he huffs out a little cherry scented breath and falls to his knees in front of the taller boy. Then it’s Harry’s turn to stare. He realizes then that he forgot to turn on any of the lights in his room (hadn’t even looked at his room really, and God he hopes there isn’t any dirty underwear on the floor) but now he doesn’t think he cares because Louis, just, wow. Harry’s never had a way with words but he knows that some masterful poetry could be written about the way the open curtains are causing shadows to strike Louis’ face in the most absurdly beautiful ways, how his sharp and elegant bone structure is highlighted by the moonlight seeping in through the windows, how his eyes remind Harry of those sticky little glow-in-the-dark stars children paste onto their ceilings, and yeah. Harry really should leave it to the poets. He has to remind himself that now is not the time to try a write a mental sonnet, not when Louis Tomlinson is on his fucking knees in front of him, with a look on his face that almost seems impatient.

Harry’s hands move from where they were awkwardly dangling at his sides and towards his zipper, and all traces of impatience are replaced on Louis’ face with something that could very well be fear. The taller boy moves slowly, for Louis’ sake of course.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He says as the zipper comes down and the button goes undone. When Louis’ eyes follow the sight of Harry’s black jeans being kicked across the room he looks back up with pure determination peppered into waves of blue.

“I want to.” Harry takes that as an invitation to pull down his dark blue boxers, and Louis swallows.

“Don’t be nervous.” Harry mumbles as he strokes himself slowly in front of Louis’ face, just to take the edge off. He’s never had to comfort someone like this, and he’s not sure how he feels about it, knows he’s not very good at it. “We’ll go slowly?”

Louis nods and Harry’s knees shake because this is it. This is the opening scene to every wet dream Harry never lets himself think about, this is the reason he has a silver crucifix dangling around his neck right now, this is the reason Harry wishes he could be content with his gorgeous girlfriend and live his fucking life, and this is the reason he can’t do just that.

Harry takes a step forwards and runs the head of his cock over the seam of Louis’ lips, and shudders at the warm breath Louis lets out as his mouth falls open. The taller boy presses forwards slightly, feeling wet heat surround the tip of his cock, before remembering that Louis eyes may be a little bit wide from nerves, and not just arousal.

“Just w-wrap your lips around it…yeah.” Harry tilts his head back slightly as Louis does as he says without question. “Flick your tongue like, shit, like that… maybe a little bit h-harder, oh fuck.” Harry allows that to go on for a few moments, until he feels Louis’ small hands relax from where they’ve come to rest on his thighs.

“Think you could take a little more, love?” Harry asks, looking down to see blue eyes staring back at him and a pair of thin, pink lips sucking lightly on the tip of his dick. He can’t resist tangling the hand that he previously had been using to guide his cock, into Louis’ neatly styled fringe, not pushing or pulling yet, just encouraging. Harry thrusts his hips forwards slowly, to get the message across that if his dick isn’t in Louis’ mouth in the next five seconds he just might die. Louis seems to understand at that point and begins to slowly suck Harry maybe three-fourths of the way down before he wraps a small, sweaty palm around the rest, stroking slowly as he sucks softly on his way back up, and ohmygod.   
Harry has to avert his gaze to his ceiling or else risking coming that very second. But, of course, an eighteen-year-old boy can only wait for so long.

“Lou, you don’t have to be so fragile.” Harry huffs out after regaining some of his self-control. “You can go faster, you can s-suck harder.”

And Louis does. And Harry can’t.

The taller boy gives up on trying to make things last any longer and takes one look at that small little head bobbing up and down his length, hears the messy slurping sounds of Louis’ inexperienced mouth, sees the heel of one of his small palms rocking back and forth over the front of his own red skinny jeans, and just comes. As the best orgasm of his life comes crashing down Harry manages to stay aware enough to pull Louis back with the hand that’s still twisted in his hair, half his come sliding down Louis’ throat, half spurting onto the smaller boy’s cheeks and nose. And that is a whole fucking lot to take in so Harry sits down, plopping noisily onto the ground and tangling his long limbs into something like sitting criss-cross-applesauce (and maybe that’s a little weird looking when you still have your not quite yet flaccid dick hanging out but Harry definitely could not bring himself to care). 

As he catches his breath slowly he becomes more aware of his surroundings. His room is clean (dirty underwear crisis: avoided), it’s got Louis Tomlinson in it, Louis Tomlinson has a large come stain on the front of his jeans, and Louis Tomlinson is using the leg of Harry’s trousers from earlier to dab away at the come on his face.

“Hey…” Harry whines tiredly as he makes no move to actually reach out and stop him.

“An eye for an eye, my friend.” Louis smirks up from behind the fabric. “You ruin my jeans for the night, I ruin yours too. It’s only what’s fair.” He says with a surprising amount of dignity for someone with a hunk of dried come right below their eye. Without giving it any thought Harry licks the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to gently swipe away at the glob. When he pulls back again, satisfied with the cleaning job he had done, Louis is staring at him with wide eyes and a dark blush on his cheeks and God does he look pretty, Harry thinks he might be the prettiest, and Harry also thinks he wants to kiss him, and.

“I think you should go.”

“What?” Louis squeaks like the pretty little mouse he is and Harry will never admit to the way his heart just breaks.

“I’m sorry, but you just need to leave.”

“Oh… okay, uhm.” And sadness fills Louis’ eyes and it just doesn’t look right and Harry wants to fucking kiss him, but that’s not right either and Louis really, really needs to go.

“Now.” For a moment he stares before gathering himself quickly, standing up and pulling his sweater over the front of his jeans. Harry follows, pulling on his boxers partly because they’re there and partly because it would make this situation ever so slightly less horrible.

“I’m sorry but did… did I do something wrong?” Louis asks as Harry fiddles with the doorknob, trying to remember how to unlock it before his frustration builds and he turns around to face Louis because all he can think is ‘yes.’ He did everything wrong with his tiny hands, and his pretty face, and his sharp tongue, and this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Harry was supposed to have Louis suck him off because blowjobs are safe, everyone likes blowjobs and it almost never matters who's giving them when you get to come down someone’s throat. Louis was supposed to give him head and that would be it. Louis would suck this weird little phase right out through Harry’s dick and they would both go back to their own, separate lives. Then Harry could spend time with Cara without feeling guilty, without picturing her long hair in a pixie cut, without imagining her with shorter legs and thicker thighs, without him having to close his eyes and think of Louis every time they fuck. Louis isn’t supposed to be cute, he’s not supposed to be funny, and he sure as hell shouldn’t make Harry want to kiss him.

Harry wants to punch something, he doesn’t wanna cry.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” He growls and he hates the way Louis’ face shifts from confused, to afraid, to angry in a matter of seconds.

“And how would you stop me? You don’t have any control over me.” Louis bites back and Harry steps forwards, and the smaller boy’s figure seems to shrink with the way he towers over him and Harry hates it. He hates it, he hates it, he hates it, but it’s good. Push Louis away; push the thoughts away.

“Who do you think is gonna believe you?” And Harry sounds mean and it’s not right but it’s good. “Who is gonna believe that the most popular footballer in our school took someone like you to their bedroom? You’re gonna have to come up with a more convincing story than that one, love.” And the room is dark but Harry knows that Louis’ eyes are beginning to brim with tears; he also knows that there are plenty bottles of cleaning supplies under his bathroom sink that he can chug once everyone is gone.

“Fuck you.” Louis’ mutters, wiping furiously at his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater, before wrenching the door open fiercely. It swings back and bangs into Harry’s side but he doesn’t care, just walks around it and watches as Louis runs out into the hall and down the stairs. And maybe Harry should just start chugging down oxiclean now, while he’s still ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thaaaaaaaaaaanks for reading, lemme know what you think! ill maybe post the next chapter tomorrow but also prolly not bc election you know how it goes


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM POSTING THIS AS A DISTRACTION FROM THE STRESS THAT THE ELECTION IS CAUSING ME

Chapter 3

Louis doesn’t want to go to school. To be fair Louis never wants to go to school, but he has never wanted to lay in bed all day (and maybe commit suicide) more than he does right now. And to make matters worse El is late picking him up, the air is humid and is gonna cause his fringe to frizz up, warm rain is pouring down like God has just been waiting all night to take a piss on Louis’ head, and he still can’t get the taste of Harry Styles’ come out of his mouth.

Louis spits on the pavement for the third time that morning.

As Eleanor pulls up in her shiny, red car she has a smile on her face. Probably because she fucked one of the most popular boys in school three days ago, maybe it’s because he didn’t kick her out of his fucking house immediately afterwards, or it could be that they’ve been texting nonstop since then.

Her expression falters slightly as her eyes meet Louis’ and that is able to brighten him slightly, not enough to show. He wants to drag her down until all she’s able to do is suffer the way he has every second since Friday night. Louis may not be the best friend out there, but no one ever said he was.

“What’s wrong?” El asks as Louis clambers into the car, swearing as he smacks his head against the roof. “That time of the month?”

And normally Louis would bite back just as hard, (“At least I didn’t let Niall Horan near my vagina, you’ll probably start sprouting potatoes down there before the day is through.”) but not today. For now he just gives her a glare, one that he hopes will frighten her to the point of pissing herself so she’ll be stuck in her pee stained, smelly school uniform for the rest of the day (she snorts and pulls onto the road without so much as a second glance).

…

The day is hell; Louis never thought it would be any different. He trips on his way up the front steps, he’s late to his first class, El won’t shut up about Niall at lunch (and maybe for the first time this school year Harry sat with his back to Louis, and maybe he had Cara sit on his lap throughout the entire thing, but it’s the whole Niall thing that’s upsetting him. Really.), all of his teachers decided that today was the day for assigning homework that could cause someone to OD on boredom, and every fucking sister Louis has just needs to talk to him about something the second he gets home and goddamn it does Louis just want to drown. So he finishes all his homework at seven, doesn’t want anything to be weighing him down, changes into swim trunks and grabs his hoodie and swim bag before telling his mum he’s walking to El’s house and slamming his front door behind him.

Louis likes pools. He likes the scent of chlorine that hangs in the humid air around them, he likes the way the light reflects off gentle waves and causes shadows to ripple serenely on the ceiling above, and he likes the way everyone stares at his arse while he struts around in his tight red swim trunks. The actual act of swimming has never quite been his forte, but he’s capable enough to make his body arch and turn gracefully under the water. Besides, he prefers the weightless feeling of simply floating to doing anything else.  
Before unlocking the large door leading into the facility, Louis takes a quick glance around him to make sure he isn’t being watched. Maybe he stole the key from the lifeguard that taught Daisy and Phoebe how to swim, so what? The lessons were ridiculously expensive (Louis assumes); they should get a more well deserved bang for their very limited buck. He deems the coast clear as he slides the shiny key into the door’s lock and turns. The door requires no pushing, just swings open as soon as he does it, as though giving Louis permission to use the pool as he sees fit, laws be damned. That’s how Louis likes to think of it anyways.

The room is silent, dark, and hot. Its brick walls are scattered with posters that each seem to repeat the phrase “DO NOT SWIM WITHOUT AN ATTENDING LIFEGUARD” (Louis thinks that message is probably more for the children than anyone else). The pool itself is perfectly square and somewhat large, white tiles line its walls and floor, and long grey cables rope off its deepest sections with large, red tubes encircling them. It may be darker than usual due to all the lights being turned off, but the entire room is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through a large pane of glass installed in the ceiling. Louis prefers this much more to the pool’s usual harsh fluorescent lighting and sighs contentedly at the turquoise glow enveloping the room. Within the entire building there are three doors; the door Louis had entered through, a poorly painted blue door leading to the men’s washroom, and a poorly painted pink door leading to the women’s washroom. The room is small, dingy, and there isn’t a security camera in sight.  
Louis smirks, strips off his hoodie and shoes, and leaps into the water.

…

Harry sniffs, wipes the tears and snot off his face, and looks in the mirror.

His face is flushed and hot, hair a complete mess from the combination of Cara’s fingers and mass amounts of chlorine. He can’t bring himself to look in his own eyes, but there’s no need to, he already knows they’re red and puffy and sadsadsad.

Harry’s been a mess since Friday. After Louis had run away that night he had stayed pressed against the unyielding door (with legs that felt like concrete and a stomach full of rocks moving seemed to be a much greater task than he could handle). That entire weekend he didn’t do much of anything, cleaned on Saturday, slept through Sunday, did whatever he could to keep his body occupied and his brain shut off. Monday proved to be more difficult. Throughout the entire day Harry was constantly plagued with the fear of seeing Louis, the fear of his gaze landing on those same crystal eyes that had looked up at him from his place on Harry’s bedroom floor and fuck. Focusing on anything was impossible, thoughts of the small pixie-kitten-prince slipped into everything he did and when it came time for lunch he sprinted to the cafeteria, reaching the usual table before anyone else and sitting down in Zayn’s usual spot just so he wouldn’t see Louis. He pulled Cara onto his lap just so he wouldn’t think about Louis. He nearly tossed her onto the floor when the bell rang because she wasn’t Louis.

And of course Cara doesn’t notice. Of course she chooses to instead focus on the minimal amount of attention she received. Of course she invited him to go swimming after the pool had closed up. Of course Harry said yes.

What else was he going to do? Everywhere he looked he saw Louis. LouisLouisLouis. The towel in his bathroom was the same red as Louis’ jeans that night, the wood floors in the dining room were the same color as Louis’ sandy fringe, a commercial came on his bedroom’s flat screen advertising spray tan and all the models in bikinis just lacked in comparison to Louis and his natural glow, and when Cara had texted him (‘i nicked the key from my lifeguard job, fancy a dip ;)??’) he had been staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars he had just pasted onto the ceiling above his bed and his lungs had just started failing him and, yeah. He reckoned he fancied a drown more than a dip.

When he arrived outside the town’s small community pool at half past five Cara was stood beside the front door, a large glass bottle in one hand and a key in the other. They drank together (they drank a lot together), they swam together, and Cara talked. She talked so much and Harry wondered if she was always like this. It’s not as though it was particularly annoying or anything, Harry just didn’t know. Harry didn’t know that his girlfriend of five years was talkative.

Harry told Cara he needed to take a piss and bolted towards the large blue door. He did pee while he was in there, simply because he didn’t enjoy lying. Especially when the person he would be lying to was perfectly nice, trusted him, loved him, wanted to be with him, made his father happy and-

Harry heard the door creak open as he was washing his hands and the weight on his chest was beginning to feel fatal. Cara had sauntered up to him, dripping and slick in her bright blue bikini, and before Harry could ask what she was doing in the men’s bathroom she pressed her lips forcibly against his.

By the time she was on her knees Harry’s mind still hadn’t stopped with the constant stream of LouisLouisLouisLouisLouis and how Louis hadn’t known what he was doing. He was inexperienced, he was nervous, he was sloppy and he was better. Cara was confident, she swirled her tongue around him the way she always does, she flicked her wrist the way she always does, and Harry’s fingers twisted in her thin hair the way they always do and it felt good, but Louis was better. After Harry had come he stayed put, he felt cold and wet and wanted to be lit on fire and eventually Cara pulled up his swim trunks for him.

“You wanna eat me out?” Cara had asked bluntly with a cheeky smile on her lips, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck. He kept his gaze low and shook his head silently.

“Oh.” Cara’s tone was drenched in disappointment and confusion and Harry couldn’t stand still anymore. He moved away from her, towards the wall that separated the stalls from the showers.

“It’s late, I should probably wash up and head home.” He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her nod.

“Okay… Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry nods in return. She was halfway through the door when she turned again. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too.” And Harry doesn’t even know if he’s lying anymore, but it hurts all the same.

And now he’s here and he doesn’t know how long he’s been here for, but he’s sure it wouldn’t make a difference. Crying on a bathroom floor is pretty pathetic no matter how long you spend doing it, and Harry’s pretty sure he’s been doing it for hours. Or maybe it’s been days and no one has gone looking for him because they all know what a pathetic, cheating, asshole he is, and now his mother is disappointed that she’ll never have grandkids and his father is going to kill him when he finds out and.

Harry really misses his bed. Harry really misses his bed, and the way he could avoid all of this up until this point and maybe he should call Zayn.  
With thoughts of Zayn’s soothing, all-knowing voice and his own fuzzy comforter in mind Harry pushes himself away from the sink and mirror and towards the blue door leading outward into liquid goodness (because he may not have his blankets with him, but at least the water is warm). The air around the pool hits him like dragon breath, and the body inside of the pool hits him like a fucking freight train because the body is small, the body is curvy, the body is tan, and the body is LouisLouisLouis fucking Tomlinson.

Harry dives into the blue and lets himself sink.

He barely hits the tile flooring before small fingers are hooking under his armpits and pulling him out of the deep. The flesh around his eyes is burning, there is water in his nose, Louis’ hot breath is puffing over his face and Harry feels his bones warming up already.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of… Ha… Harry?” Louis’ voice turns from frightened and confused to hurt and confused and Harry just feels confused.

“Yeah?” Maybe Harry drank a little more than he thought he had, because he’s sure that Louis’ irises are the exact same color as the water they’re paddling in and he’s more than a little worried that if Louis goes under they’ll float away and they’ll never find them then. So, logically, Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls them both over to where Harry can stand comfortably. He turns until he’s got Louis safely pressed against the tile wall. It’s only logical.

“What are you doing? Why are you here?” Louis shouts at him and that hurts Harry, and he doesn’t want to hear it so he kisses him. He kisses Louis. He kisses Louis Tomlinson. Louis fucking Tomlinson. And when he pulls away Harry’s relieved to see Louis’ irises are still intact, glowing the same shade of blue he’s always adored.

Harry dives into the blue and lets himself sink.

His lips are soft and warm and thin and lovely when he leans in to kiss him again and Harry feels more than a little unsatisfactory. There he is, standing in the water with a fucking god wrapped around his torso and he doesn’t know what to do. What he wants to do is fuck Louis (the thought slips easily through the cage Harry had built around it, swimming and melting in his alcohol filled brain like chocolate syrup). He wants to rip off his swim trunks, let them float away as he wraps a hand around Louis, around his cock, his ribs, it could be his bloody ankle for all Harry cares, he just needs to touch. The muscles in his arms twitch at the thought and shrink back as Louis digs his nails in. Harry doesn’t realize there are tiny hands pushing fiercely at his biceps until one of them bunches up and punches him in the center of his chest.

The impact is weak, that’s not the reason it hurts so bad. It hurts because, when Harry pulls back and flicks his reddened eyes open, Louis is staring back him with irises like ice and tears that could melt the skin off Harry’s bones.

“What are you doing?” He shouts and his voice breaks over each word like his throat had been working to hold them back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Lemme take care of you, Louis.” The words tumble instinctively from Harry’s mouth as Louis chokes on nothing. He pretends not to notice as he ducks down, placing his mouth on the skin where shoulder meets neck and sucking roughly. Louis gasps and Harry feels a new sort of thrill at being the one to clear his throat again.

Louis closes his mouth after that, sharp teeth pull at red skin and when Harry is satisfied with the deep purple mark he’s made on miles of tan he pulls his lip between his own teeth, kissing him fiercely. He takes advantage of their height difference by pushing his tongue into the front of Louis’ mouth, tasting chlorine and fear and LouisLouisLouis. When there’s a soft flick of a tongue against his own his fingers tighten on Louis’ hips and he worries for a second that the small bones in his grip will crack and shatter under his palms and the guilt.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.” He apologizes against wet lips as heated palms come to rest on his shoulders.

“What, why?” There’s concern and fear and lust and everything under the fucking sun hiding in Louis’ eyes and Harry thinks that is awfully unfair.

“Almost broke you,” He mumbles sincerely and Louis goes silent for a moment (Harry’s sure he’s realized the extent of the damage he’s caused to Louis’ body and now wants nothing to do with him and that can be the second thing he can add to the list of things he’s fucked over tonight).

“Are you drunk?” Is not the response he’s expecting and yet it’s there, floating in the air between them and surrounding the two in fog.

“I don’t know anymore.” And he doesn’t. He’s never felt like this before, like there’s fire in his veins and his head, turning everything to ashes and leaving flames of crystal blue to flicker violently in it’s path.

Neither of them speaks for a while and Harry almost feels angry at the way Louis isn’t saying whatever it is that’s making him frown the way he is.

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry says.

“How can it not matter?” Louis says louder, like he was trying to find the words before but couldn’t and now they’re exploding on his tongue and past his lips.

“You have to trust me.” Harry says dismissively bringing a hand around to palm slowly at Louis’ hardening member. He doesn’t want to explain himself, not now not ever. There’s a mashed up mud puddle of reasons in his brain and he stands there every day, it seems like. Pushing his feet around in the filth and feeling too scared to dip his hands into the unknown every time he feels something brush against his toes.

Louis gasps at the contact and doesn’t ask again. Harry feels oddly victorious.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” He says seriously, meaning every word. “I’m gonna make you feel as good as you deserve to feel.”

For a moment Louis stares up at him silently, his eyes flickering over his face and landing on the green that won’t release, gasping from the heated palm rubbing over his length.

He nods as though desperate, and that is exactly how Harry wants him.

Harry lifts then drags his right hand across Louis’ wet abdomen, dipping his fingertips underneath the red waistband of his swim trunks. He looks into his eyes for a moment, searching for permission that he finds quickly, as he uses both hands to remove the fabric from Louis’ skin (they float away somewhere and neither of them feel concern).

The taller boy wraps his long fingers around Louis quickly, feeling him hot and heavy in the palm of his hand as he tries not to let his nerves consume him. It’s awkward at first, the angle all new and the rhythm all wrong. Eventually, though, he finds himself stroking in a way that has Louis panting into his neck. He tugs roughly as he would to himself, dipping his thumb over Louis’ slit as he grinds his own hips slowly against nothing. Louis gasps as his head falls backwards, his tan skin drawn tight over the column of his throat and Harry can’t resist leaning forwards and marking him all over again. Curvy hips rut shakily against his palm as a small moan starts to fall from Louis’ parted lips. Harry’s wrist speeds up of its own accord. 

“I’m, ah, I’m not gonna last…” Moments later a dark blush falls onto his already rosy cheeks like he’s embarrassed and Harry feels his own heart pound at how prettyprettypretty he is.

“You can come.” Harry wants him to, wants to feel him pulsing in his hand and have his breath run short beneath him. Harry wants to have complete control, just this once.

Within minutes Louis has stopped making any noise, his body is stretched taut and Harry watches in awe as the muscles in his stomach jump and he comes hard into the pool water. His eyes are scrunched tight, his mouth pulled open and Harry is drowning, he knows it.

The smaller boy takes another few minutes to catch his breath and Harry is just about to say something (stupid) when legs are unwrapping from around his waist and there is a tiny palm sneaking under his swim trunks.

Louis’ hand is hot around him, tugging firmly at his length and rubbing slowly at his head. Harry shivers as he feels pleasure already beginning to build in his stomach, twisting his insides in worry and fear and bliss and thrill and contentment and when he comes he comes hard. Feeling like his knees are going to give out in a fucking pool as he releases in his swim trunks, making a bigger mess of himself and the pool water and everything really.

Number three on the list of things Harry has fucked up tonight; everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes !

Louis wakes to the sound of a squeaky voice, and the feeling of a plush stuffed animal repeatedly hitting him in the head.

“Why are you sleepin’ in your bathing suit?” His heavy eyelids flicker open just in time for Daisy to slam her stuffed cow into his face. Phoebe giggles as he groans and turns his face into his pillow.

“These are pajamas, Phoebe.” He lies, wondering to himself exactly what he could’ve done in a past life to deserve this.

“No they’re not.”

“That’s a swim suit!” Daisy adds, twisting her arm around and smacking his bum with the cow.

“How would you know? You’re, like, three.”

“I’m six!” They both shout in unison and Louis is not prepared for this type of hell this early in the morning.

“Girls,” His mother’s voice drifts into the room from the hallway outside. “Are you getting your brother up?”

“Yes!” They shout even louder and Louis can’t stop himself from reaching up and pulling on Phoebe’s ear as he stands.

“Ow!”

“You’re fine.” He groans in response, just as he hears Eleanor’s car horn blare from outside. “Fuck, I’m late.”

“I’m gonna tell mum you swore!” Daisy threatens, holding her tiny hands on her hips.

“Go ahead.” Louis mumbles, chuckling despite his foul mood as he begins to take off his hoodie and both girls run screaming from his room. He quickly gets dressed, forgoing his usual routine for simply brushing his teeth at record speeds. Once he’s downstairs tying his shoes, he feels a pair of eyes burning through his clothes.

“Daisy told me you slept in your bathing suit?” His mother’s voice questions behind him sharply. “And I didn’t hear you come home last night.”

“Didn’t wanna wake you.” He mumbles in reply, hoping to avoid this at least until he comes home from school. Shoving a piece of bread in his mouth, Louis grabs his backpack and sprints outside, waving quickly to his mum and slamming the door shut behind him.

“You look like shit.” Eleanor drawls slowly as he climbs into her car.

“Thank you, Eleanor. You know, I’m so glad to have such a supportive friend like you in my life. Everyday when I wake up I am thankful that soon, I’ll be able to look upon your greasy, smug, little face. And every night-”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She chuckles to herself as she pulls out of the toy-littered driveway and onto the road. “What’s been up your butt lately? You’ve been so pissy.”

“No I have not.”

“Mhmm, you’ve been moaning like no tomorrow. You know it’s true.”

“Lies.” Louis hisses in her direction and she chuckles as she smacks him in the head.

“I’m gonna take you out on Friday, we can go to that one gay bar. Remember? The one where they didn’t check your ID because of your bum.”

“They didn’t check my ID because of my incredibly mature demeanor, not because I have an arse that even God has wet dreams about.” Eleanor laughs as the car slows to a stop at an intersection, reaching over and pinching Louis’ cheeks.

“Whatever, Lou Lou. Just make sure to wear your tightest denim, I’m gonna get you laid, virginity is an old look for you” At this Louis’ smile falters and his cheeks heat. “Oh my God are you blushing?”

“No.”

“Yes you are! Oh Lou Lou,” she reaches over with both hands now, patting his hair as he flails in a useless attempt to keep her mockingly delicate hands off his body. “There’s no need to be ashamed, everyone goes through a drought or two in their time and it’s perfectly natural for a boy your age to-”

“Oh my God, stop it, stop it.” Louis shouts, covering his ears and wishing he could just crawl his way into the trunk. He also wishes that he had even an ounce of courage, and could tell Eleanor that he is having almost the exact opposite of a drought and that is exactly what his problem is.

…

 

It’s illegal to physically punish students in England, isn’t it? Because if Harry’s instincts are correct in telling him that it is, then at least twenty laws are being broken by this chair. This chair, if you could even call it a chair, is so ridiculously uncomfortable and ugly. With its stupid metal legs, and stupid metal seat, and stupid, stupid placement right beside the classroom’s air conditioner. The air conditioner itself is something that should be considered corporal punishment as well. How can Harry possibly be expected to sit and listen to a forty-five minute long lecture on the importance of the French Revolution when he’s got a fucking freezer rattling and breathing all over him? And, god, won’t someone please just kill whoever it is that’s tapping their goddamn pencil-

Before the thought can come to it’s undoubtedly angst ridden conclusion Harry’s phone buzzes twice from inside of his back pocket. 

“U doing alright?” Niall’s text reads. “U look ready to murder lol”

“I’m fine, mate.” Harry writes back. “Just sick of sitting around is all.” As Harry pressed send he silently applauds himself on his partial honesty. He is sick of sitting around, that much is true, but Harry wouldn’t consider himself ‘fine’ by any means, because if he had thought getting Louis off his mind before was hard, he had no idea what he was in for. He really didn’t. If he had he would’ve left the pool as soon as he had seen Louis’ body floating like a golden island in uncharted waves of blue, in fact he never would’ve come to the pool at all. Hell, he would’ve dropped out of school altogether if he had known he would never again have to see the shaken and furious look of realization in Louis Tomlinson’s eyes as he silently gathered his belongings and set his stride to anywhere that Harry wasn’t, something that Harry has now been forced to see twice.

He’s been doing his best not to think about it, or anything else really, choosing instead to focus his attention on the most minute of details around him. That way, he figures he won’t even be able to see anything so extraordinarily, indefinitely bigger than him. The week has been hard, and Harry would be lying (nothing new) if he said he wasn’t nervous about how he’s going to handle all the stress in tonight’s footie game. He’s been going to practice and training harder than ever, but he also has this new found tendency to go in a little rough (and if he’s only tripping the players who yell things like ‘faggot’ or ‘cocksucker’ during practice then no one has to know) and while it has been serving as a type of stress reliever for Harry, it’s not exactly acceptable behavior. 

Just then, Harry’s phone buzzes once again inside his slightly damp palm.

“Sick!! I told Zayn u werent going crazy!” Harry snorts at that and spares a glance over to the back of the small classroom, where the leather-clad boy is carefully lining up each of his pencils into perfectly parallel rows. He reckons Zayn’s more mental than he is. “After the game tonite do u wanna cum out with the 2 of us?”

Around them students begin to stand and gather into various groups around the room and as Zayn slowly makes his way down Harry turns to Niall’s desk in the row behind his.

“I thought you and Evelyn were going out tonight?” He asks, cracking over the name and the things it drags from the deep.

“Eleanor.” Zayn mumbles as he pulls a chair up to the front of Harry’s desk

“Right, sorry.”

“No problem.” Niall beams up at him. “She cancelled on me, said she needed to help out a friend.”

“Reckon it’s Louis she’s taking out tonight?” Zayn questions as Niall shrugs and Harry’s skin pales and chills.

“What makes you say that?” He grimaces internally at his own awful attempt at being nonchalant, his genuine concern dripping over his words.

“He hasn’t spoken all week.” Zayn says as though he isn’t tearing Harry’s world down piece by piece.

“What? Do you two, like, talk?”

“Sometimes. He’s in my art class, talks to everyone. Not many people seem to listen to him. He’s pretty funny, kinda sucks for him. Anyway, this whole week he’s been kinda quiet.” Zayn’s eyes look up from god knows where and bore into Harry’s like he fucking knows something and the taller boy barely has to remind himself that ‘Zayn doesn’t know shit. Zayn doesn’t know shit. Zayn doesn’t know shit.’ before Niall is speaking again.

“Shame. Anyways me and Zayn were gonna go hit up ‘The Stallion’, ever heard of it?”

“No, never.” Niall’s grin widens to a painful extreme.

“Well then that’s where we’ll go! Get some celebratory drinks in ya after our big win!” The blue-eyed boy’s palm claps Harry roughly on the back as the larger boy wipes at his sweaty palms as discretely as possible.

…

By nine-thirty that night, Harry’s on cloud motherfucking ten. They dominated whatever half-ass, bum-fuck, nitwit school they were playing against, 3-0 bitches (Two of these goals being scored by Harry Styles himself, bitches). So he’s already on a damn good victory high when he meets up with Niall and Zayn in the latter’s basement to actually get high. One joint each and they’re out the door, walking to a club where Niall claims ‘Free drinks flow, and anything goes! That includes minors!’. In fact, Harry’s feeling so spectacularly awesome that by the time his glassy eyes scan over the dancing crowd inside the club and find only mass amounts of young men, he barely has a clinical level panic attack.

“Niall,” Zayn begins as the bartender hands him three shots of something unnaturally green, paired with a not so sly wink. “did you bring us to a gay bar?”

“Hm?” Niall somehow manages to mumble loudly; too preoccupied with distributing each shot glass and making sure he is given the fullest one.

“Gay bar, Niall. Did you bring us to one.” Harry spits it out like an order, quickly becoming angry and frightened with the realization that he is practically sitting in a nightmare, and that he is sobering up far too hastily for his taste. Niall doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned about Harry’s tone as he tips his head back and smoothly swallows down his shot. Zayn, however, shoots Harry a disapproving look that rivals ninety percent of the earth’s concerned mothers.

“Oh, yeah.” Niall says like it’s fucking nothing after setting his glass down. “Yeah, this is a gay club. Why did you think I was getting so many free drinks?”

At this Zayn chuckles and downs his shot. After giving himself a moment to recover from this shock (that apparently no one else shares with him), Harry imitates their movements. Because judging by the happy look on Zayn’s face, and Niall’s shit-eating grin as he orders more drinks, they aren’t leaving this place very soon. And Harry can’t do this with weed alone.

…

“I think our goalie is fucking bullshit mate, I mean I hate Nick. He’s not even good! You know what they should fucking do? Do you know that they should fucking do, mate?” Niall splutters over the rim of a glass that shines brightly under the spotlights as they twist and glimmer from their spots on the ceiling and floor.

“What?” Harry responds not in answer, but in question. He drifted out a little while ago because, as it would seem, people quite like him here. Drink after drink is constantly being shoved in his face and, you know, Harry’s not one to complain. There is no sure way of knowing how many times he’s been served this evening, all Harry can say is that it’s been less than Zayn. Despite this indisputable fact, Zayn has still managed to stay the most sober member of their small group, handing most of his beverages down to Niall and Harry.

“They should make you the fucking goalie, mate. Like, Nick, he’s not even fucking trying and you can’t be on a fucking team like ours and not even fucking try. Jesus.”

Harry laughs then, a big jovial laugh that he can feel shake it’s way through his gut as he convulses. He laughs partly because of the grouchy look on Niall’s face as he takes a sip from a bright pink glass filled with equally pink liquor and a purple umbrella, but he also laughs because for the first time in months he’s happy. Well and truly happy like this whole ‘sexual identity crisis’ (a term that Google had suggested, that Harry has never had the courage to use, even in his own mind, at least not until he’d gotten shit faced in a bar full of gay men who love dick and are proud of it.) bullshit isn’t happening. It’s been so long since Harry’s just gone out with his best mates in the whole wide world and just had a fucking good time. And that’s a shame, really.

“I love you guys.” Harry says in a content tone before he can stop himself. Zayn and Niall share a glance with one another before smiling up at him.

“I love you too, mate.” Niall grins.

“Mhm.” Zayn mumbles through a closed-mouth smile. His hazel eyes switch focus suddenly and lock onto something in the distance, at least that’s what Harry thinks is happening in his swimmy vision. “Is that Eleanor?”

Harry whirls around in his seat and tumbles to the ground. The feeling of his skull banging against the bar’s cold countertop is more sobering than it is painful, and, in this moment, Harry wishes it were the other way around. Niall lifts his body from the ground, and his blurred vision clears just in time for him to witness Eleanor walking through the crowd with a satisfied smile on her face. His eyes follow her path without his permission and land on something he never wanted to see.

Louis, back to chest grinding on some stranger with too much tan and too much muscle, his thick thighs working in tight denims, and a white long sleeve shirt clinging to his slim torso while dipping down to reveal his thin collar bones. His hair, normally styled to perfection, is wilting in a way that only makes him more attractive to Harry (makes him look softer, Harry thinks. A little more man, a little less God), as he’s being held in someone else’s hands.

The worst part about it is not the way this strange man grips at his hips, or the way his mouth trails along places Harry knows make Louis moan. The worst part is the look on Louis’ face. He’s all flushed cheeks, and sly smiles. His eyes sparkling a dark shade of steel blue every time the spotlights catch him moving, and every time the stranger leans down to whisper in his ear Louis giggles and nods and blushes a shade darker. Louis looks happy, and Harry has never made him look like that. The closest he’s ever come to making Louis look this pleased and just good was the night he was in Harry’s room, sitting on his floor with something like hope glistening in his eyes. Harry had taken that look and thrown it out his front door, and he deserves every punishment he gets. 

“I-I need to go,” Harry turns around on his feet as he stutters, feeling much less intoxicated than before, but somehow much more dazed.

“Go?” Niall questions. Eleanor is standing in front of him, placed between his spread legs with his large hands resting on her hips. The sight adds to the building nausea in Harry’s stomach and does nothing to distract him from the stream of LouisLouisLouis racketing inside his skull. “Go where?”

“I hope it’s not because of me, Harry.” Eleanor says kindly and Harry kind of wants to punch her (and everyone else, for that matter) in the throat.

“It’s not, just… restroom.” Is all he can say before he’s tearing through the crowd, eyes scanning the building, looking for a bathroom. There’s blood pounding in his ears when his watering eyes land on two glassy blue ones, and tanned features shape into an expression that mimics the shock he felt seconds ago. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking until there are hands pushing into his back, directing him to a less crowded corner of the club. The person pushing at him leads him to a door surrounded by green lights, with a purple sign above labeling the room as the women’s bathroom. Harry runs inside and immediately begins to gag into the paper towel filled sink. The same hand that had been shoving him begins to slowly (albeit harshly) rub side to side along the length of his shoulders. When Harry’s stomach stops contracting and begins to settle slightly, he looks up into the dingy mirror and is met with a reflection of himself (pink-tinted eyes, puffy tear streaked cheeks, skin shiny with sweat and flushed from head to toe) and Eleanor (cool, collected, pissed).

“Hey.” Is all she says, an impatient look resting on her face.

“Hi.” Harry responds as he straightens himself from the crouching position he had taken over the sink. He begins to rub at his eyes, trying to smooth out the look of sadness in them somehow, and maybe he still is a little bit drunk. Probably he still is a little bit drunk.

“You look awful, and that’s not gonna help.” Harry can’t help but snort at the blandness of her tone and the directness of her words. The numbness he hadn’t known was resting in his limbs begins to dissipate, and all Harry is left with is a runny nose and a throbbing sense of hurt writhing in his chest.

“What do you suggest I do about it then?”

“For Christ’s sake,” Eleanor mumbles to herself as she collects several paper towels from a dispenser across the surprisingly clean bathroom, and wets them under cold water. Harry hisses and jerks back as she dabs the dripping material across his flaming cheeks, to which she responds with a light smack to his bicep. “What would you boys do without me? You, Niall, and Louis would all be dead by now if it weren’t for me and my caretaking skills.”

Harry feels his skin flush once more even under Eleanor’s ministrations, and tries not to cringe as she raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. She takes the towel away from his face and sighs heavily.

“What’s your problem?” She says, and the strength behind her words echoes in the empty bathroom.

“What do you mean?” Harry can’t help but feel a little threatened by her, she’s all power and nerve, and Harry feels slightly like a child being punished by their mum.

“What’s your problem with Louis?” He had known it was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him. He stands there, shifting from side to side in silence for about five seconds before Eleanor speaks again. “I know you know what I’m talking about, and if you don’t wanna answer me I can just go and ask him myself.”

“He hasn’t told you?” The words slip through Harry’s filter before he can stop them, and he regrets ever opening his mouth when he sees the angry look on Eleanor’s face.

“No. What is there to tell?” She takes a step forward that clacks threateningly as one towering black heel makes contact with equally dark tile, and Harry is left there stunned.  
Louis never told anyone. Not even his best friend. After Harry had treated him like absolute shit in private, and completely denied his existence in public, he still did the only thing Harry had ever asked of him.

“I think if he had wanted for you to know, he would’ve told you.” Harry replies honestly. He can’t believe that after everything that Harry did Louis wouldn’t say anything for his sake. No, he must want to keep this a secret just as badly as Harry does. The thought sits uneasily in Harry’s stomach and he returns to his slouched position over the sink once more, just in case the urge to empty his already vacant stomach should strike him once more.

“Are you hurting him?” She demands angrily and Harry reels back in shock.

“N-no.”

“Are you sure?” Harry stays silent. “You know, he hasn’t been acting like himself lately, and if I found out that you’re the reason why, then I’ll kill you.”

With that she twists around in a swirl of long hair and flowery perfume and exits the bathroom, leaving Harry alone with the overwhelming urge to spend the rest of the evening crying in a public bathroom. Again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is kinda short!

The late September air hits Louis like bucket of ice as he leaves the sweaty, humid club. The chill, numbing and painful as it may be, feels like a breath of fresh air to Louis’ overheated skin. He doesn’t walk far, his shaky legs would never have given him a chance. He’s running on tequila and pure shock right now, and the sticky bench beside the door could not have been placed more conveniently. Louis sighs heavily as he plops down onto the hard surface, his mind racing and his blood pumping almost painfully fast.

Harry. Harry Styles. Harry Styles who lets himself be pushed into a women’s bathroom by someone half his size and weight, Harry Styles who looks at him like a kicked puppy when he catches him attempting to lose himself with another man, Harry Styles who can spend hours relaxing in a gay club, but not a moment in Louis’ presence.

The now shivering boy’s heart physically aches at the realization. Apparently he’d been wrong all this time, thinking that Harry was just your dime a dozen closet case jock. No. Harry’s not afraid of being gay or being different or whatever. He just doesn’t want to be with Louis, and that shouldn’t hit so hard, but it does. It’s a fact that Louis’ known since he was twelve, and he tried out for the school’s footie team, but was denied because Harry had legs longer by miles and could run faster than him. He was reminded when he was fourteen and no one would dance with him at the spring formal, but Harry had a line of what felt like hundreds of gorgeous girls just waiting for their chance to shine under a spotlight made of dimples and white teeth. Every night for years Louis has sickened himself with thoughts of Cara’s warmth mixing with Harry’s, as he lies in bed alone, and now, as the freezing and pathetic eighteen year old he is, Louis is forced to recognize the fact that someone like Harry, who is so inconceivably better than him, will never stoop so low and fall for someone like Louis.

Louis rolls down his sleeves, wipes furiously at his eyes, and begins dialing the number to the only person he can think to call.

…

 

“Louis, you look like shit.” Liam’s cheery smile twitches downwards as he glances over Louis’ shivering frame. “Oh, come in. Let’s go up to my room. Try to be quiet though.”

Louis follows him into his home, breathing in the warm air and calming scent of cinnamon candles as he goes. Guilt begins to rumble in the pit of his stomach as he moves, but the overwhelming sense of pain that has burrowed within him keeps his feet still as Liam shuts his bedroom door behind them.

Glancing around Louis realizes that despite the fact that he hasn’t been here for months, Liam’s room hasn’t changed a bit. His slanted ceilings, shaped by the roof above, are still coated with posters of football players and cars, his walls still painted the same calming shade of creamy white. Every piece of furniture is wooden, and aged in a way that screams ‘hand-me-down,’ even the blankets covering Liam’s bed appear used in a way that Liam could never accomplish on his own, and Louis knows his grandmother probably spent hours creating the pile of fuzz. On Liam’s desk, placed precariously on the edge closest to where Liam’s head would rest as he sleeps, Louis notices a picture of himself and the taller boy. Taken years ago, the photograph displays the two of them soaked with rain and chubby with baby fat, arms around each other in celebration of their old rec team’s first (and only) win. Louis feels drunken tears begin to rise to his eyes as he gazes upon the familiarity of the room, and as Liam turns to sit on his bed he notices and rises immediately.

“Lou, what’s wrong?” He questions softly, hands moving as if to reach out and touch Louis, but they fall quickly before they reach him. Louis shakes his head slowly from side to side, feeling horrible with himself. He’s gone and woken Liam far past midnight for no good reason, barged into his home while he’s still too drunk to think coherently, not to mention the fact that Louis hasn’t given Liam the time he deserves in weeks, and for god knows how many reasons Harry can barely stand to look at him. He’s worthless.

“God, I’m sorry, Li.” Louis mumbles, and this time Liam’s hands do come up and rub comfortingly along his quaking arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“What have you got to be sorry for? I’m not mad at you.” He takes a step closer, and Louis feels his warmth settle around him like fog.

“Yeah, well you should be. I’ve gone and fucked everything up. Everything I touch gets all fucked, Liam.” The smaller boy’s drunken words may not make the most sense, but as they spill from his shaking lips they resonate deep within him, and make his heart ache even more. His voice is small when he says “I’m such a fuck up.”

“No you’re not.” Liam says, his voice hushed and his tone forceful. “You’re great, Lou. And in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never fucked up. Not even once.”

Louis raises his eyes to Liam’s face just as he grins back down with flushed cheeks. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is. You’re funny, and you’re cheerful. You always get El to stop making fun of me, and you never yell at me even though I can tell that I’m annoying you half the time, and you know what else? The best part of my day is when I get to see you.”

“Really?” Louis repeats.

“Yeah,” Liam’s chocolate eyes go glassy for a moment, as he leans downwards slowly. “Really.”

Liam presses his lips to Louis’ for a second before he reels back like he’d been bitten.

“Shit.” Liam mutters, staring pointedly at the floor as he stumbles. “Shit, Louis I’m so sorry.” Louis says nothing. He stands where he’s been for the last few minutes as he let’s his mind mull over the facts. Before he can allow himself to think better of it, Louis dives forwards and kisses Liam again, firmer this time, confirming his thoughts.

Kissing Liam is different than kissing Harry. There’s less spark, less fire. Louis can feel himself relaxing into a state of calm he could never achieve with Harry, when his bones feel like paper that the green eyed boy had decided to set ablaze. Liam rests his hands lightly on Louis’ hips where Harry would have had his heated palms running roughly along Louis’ waist and neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Liam licks tentatively at Louis’ bottom lip where Harry would have pulled on it between his teeth, using Louis’ gasps for breath as entrance. Liam helps the ache inside Louis’ ribs dissipate slowly where Harry would have fed that pain. The two boys separate, breathing heavily, and Louis feels an unmistakable hardness against his thigh. He makes a decision then, one that feels horrifyingly like a last resort.

“Liam?” The taller boy nods and rests his forehead against Louis’. “I want you to fuck me.”

Liam’s eyelids open hastily from their previously slumped state, looking simultaneously like a child about to embark on their first roller coaster and a child who has just been given the key to their favorite candy shop, and Louis can feel him tense under the palms he has resting on his back. “A-are you sure?”

“Just. Just promise me a couple things.” He pauses for a moment in order to steady himself from the overwhelming amount of sincerity in Liam’s eyes. “Promise me that in the morning, you’ll be there. That you won’t regret doing this, and you won’t be embarrassed that you did it with me.” Liam nods fervently and Louis gulps, a sadness he can’t quite place breaking his voice as he speaks. “I need to hear you say it, Li.”

“I promise.” He replies immediately. “Of course, I promise.”

Louis then nods his consent slowly, before being lowered down to the hand-me-down, grandma quilt covered bed, where a younger version of himself watches on as he loses his virginity to his best friend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do so much research to figure out how soccer works and I dont think I got it right at all lol

For over three months, Harry thinks of nothing but Louis (Harry supposes this may have been true for much longer than that, but he’d rather not dwell on it). That night in The Stallion it had taken twenty minutes for Harry to work up the courage to leave the bathroom and search for Louis, half formed apologies coating his tongue and brain as he went (The club had been an eye opening experience for Harry. Feeling a little bit too drunk and confident, Harry felt more than ready to walk up to Louis and at least start to talk things out). He wasn’t at the bar, he wasn’t on the dance floor, and he wasn’t outside. That night when Harry went home, he had himself a good cry before curling up in his bed and falling asleep. Had he known this would become quite the pattern for him, he might not have given in so easily. Had he known that weeks later all his secret pining and hoping and praying would come crumbling down around him in a fiery blaze of teenage angst and frustration, he definitely wouldn’t have given in so easily.

Mid-January, and Harry finds himself shaking softly as he ties up the black laces to his yellow cleats. He doesn’t shake because of the freezing cold air that pours into the locker room every time someone just needs to get out to the crowded field, or because of the loud music he has blasting into his eardrums from his iPod. No, he sits there quivering to himself like a child because he’s nervous. The school they’re about to play against is tough, really tough. And if they lose this match, then it’s over. All the work they’ve put in this year will be for nothing, and they’ll just have to hope for better next year. To ensure victory he’s been doing all he can, drinking lots of water and practicing in his backyard instead of doing homework. With all the pressure he feels riding on his shoulders Louis feels like a distant memory, one that will soon come back to haunt him once he steps off the field. Until then, Harry plans to do his best with the distraction he’s been given.

“Ready to head out, mate?” Niall, clad in his own uniform and cleats, smiles down at him as he takes one last swig of water and pulls his earbuds out.

“Ready as ever.” He stands and the two make their way out the door and onto the field. Harry’s ears fill immediately with the sounds of the crowded stands, and his heartbeat rises in speed and volume, as Niall leans over to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t fuck this up, Harry.”

Harry kisses the silver cross dangling around his neck, and prays silently that he won’t.

…

 

It’s going bad. It’s going really bad. 2-0 and they’re losing so bad. Harry’s been running up and down the field like a madman trying to keep the ball away from their goal because when it comes down to just their goalie, (Nick, a lanky fellow with a superiority complex that more often than not does prove to be accurate) they don’t stand a chance. Just three points, c’mon just three, plays on a constant loop in his mind as the timer ticks down and his legs become weaker and weaker with every step. The sweat collecting on his body reacts to the winter air around them, and chills his bones as he continues to play with numb toes.

He’s running the ball up the field, trying to pass it off to someone else on his team as quickly as possible when a figure walking past the front row of seats closest to him catches his eye. A boy, named Liam he thinks, is making his way past rows of people holding two steaming cups in his gloved hands. The sight is shocking to him for no reason other than Harry hasn’t seen him in months. After that Friday night in September Louis and his small group of friends moved from their usual seats in the cafeteria, leaving Harry with the haunting feeling that they had all dropped off the face of the earth. He’s scanned every table hundreds of times it feels like, to reassure himself that Louis hasn’t been murdered or kidnapped or something equally horrific (he’s knows he’s hasn’t been. He asks Zayn about him at least once a week, every time hoping for something more than a tired “Yeah, Harry, I’ve seen him.” and every time receiving the same). Seeing Liam is comforting for reasons Harry can’t explain, adds a little warmth to his stomach knowing that he hasn’t disappeared. The brown-eyed boy finds his seat just then, settling in slightly before reaching over and handing one of the Styrofoam cups to.

Louis. Louis is sitting there, wearing a puffy blue coat that even from this distance Harry can tell makes his baby blue eyes stand out, his tiny hands are shielded from the cold with a fuzzy black pair of mittens, and Harry can’t help but imagine the way his hair will fluff up once he takes off his maroon beanie. He takes the cup from Liam’s grip and offers him a smile full of thin, chapped lips and perfect white teeth, and Liam uses his free hand to lovingly rub up and down Louis thigh, and. And he places a kiss, one chaste, simple kiss on Louis’ rosy cheek before taking one of the smaller boys hands into his own and.

Harry hadn’t known he’d stopped running, or walking even. Hadn’t known he’d been standing stock still with the ball barely even touching his shoes until it was being kicked away from him, being pushed down the field by someone on the opposite team. Harry stands and watches stupidly as the ball is shot directly past Nick and into the goal. The buzzer sounds from the scoreboard, announcing their loss as a chorus of cheers and boos erupt from the stands. Harry feels deaf to it all as he turns back around to find Louis already staring at him, sitting on the stands where everyone around him stands either to scream or leave. Liam begins to tug on his sleeve just as Harry feels someone pull him to the ground from behind.

“What is the matter with you?” Nick’s screams before Harry’s body can even land. “What the hell happened? What could possibly have distracted you at a time like that?” Flecks of spit come raining down upon him with every word, veins bulging in Nick’s face and neck as he continues to cry out with anger.

Harry doesn’t say anything, feeling stunned from the impact of the ground and Louis and Liam and. Liam. Harry’s bones ignite with rage then, jealously blossoming in his chest like an ugly, invasive plant. One with thorn covered vines that unravel and wrap around his limbs, piercing into his skin, injecting its venom into his bloodstream and making him weak. He stands then, looking past Nick and the small crowd of his other teammates that have gathered around, and looks straight to Louis. He stares into his wide, ice blue eyes, and hopes Louis can feel it. Hopes he can feel the pain that months of silence causes, hopes he can feel the hurt that swelled up in him that night as he cried to himself in a club bathroom, and while he’s at it he adds the time in the pool too, how he cried when Cara had left and how he cried harder when Louis left too. Harry hopes Louis can feel the nausea that has risen in his stomach, from witnessing Liam’s hands where Harry’s should be.

Harry turns and stomps towards the locker room, before he explodes from this mixture of hatred and rage and hurt that’s whirring about in his brain. He ignores Nick as he screams to Louis, demanding to know what is going on. He ignores Niall as he attempts to stop Harry in his path with gentle slaps to the back and quiet murmurs of “Haz, it’s alright,” and “We don’t need championships.” He ignores everyone and everything around him as he strides through the locker room and into the school. Thinking only of hiding from his teammates, and everyone else really, he finds the nearest bathroom. There’s a small crowd inside, waiting for their turn for a urinal or stall, and Harry feels no shame as he shoves past them all and dives into the first stall door that opens.

Harry sits on the toilet seat fully clothed, with his head face down in his palms. As the cold that had settled in his bones begins to subside and melt away, so does some of the rage he had felt bubbling over inside him. Anger instead starts to fade into regret.

It’s obvious to Harry that he likes Louis in a way that could never be described as ‘platonic.’ It’s been obvious ever since Christmas, when Cara had broken up with him because he had forgotten to buy her a present and she had “never been so disrespected in her life.” The breakup hadn’t felt very good, but it hadn’t felt all that bad either. And maybe, Harry had thought to himself over a month ago, he could survive without Cara, maybe he had only gone out with her in the first place because of all the pressure surrounding him at the time to be the star football player with a hot cheerleader on his arm. Or maybe Harry had put all that pressure on himself and maybe, just maybe, nobody actually gave a shit about half the things that he did.

When Cara had come to him a week later, her cheer uniform all short and tight and her hair done up in a perfect bow, and asked if he wanted to get back together, the answer felt obvious to him. 

The word ‘no’ has never slipped from his mouth so easily before. And the most satisfying part of the whole experience wasn’t ‘getting rid’ of Cara, or being single for the first time since year seven, it was the way Cara simply shrugged and walked away in her usual confident stride as though nothing had happened. They were done with each other it seemed, and not for any negative or hateful reasons. As Harry had walked through the cafeteria that day, without the presence of Cara by his side or on his lap, Harry thought to himself, maybe change isn’t so bad.

But the thing was, he was still afraid. He was afraid that if he acted on his feelings his friends would turn on him, or his teammates wouldn’t look his way anymore, or that Louis wouldn’t give him the chance that he wanted so badly yet never really deserved. And that is what brought him here. Now Louis had Liam, and he’s happy. Harry should respect that. He should respect Louis’ wishes and, as much as it hurts for him to do so, give up. Harry feels a familiar ache in the back of his head that tells him doing so, won’t be so easy.

At this point Harry figures enough time must’ve passed for the bathroom to clear out, so he stands, wipes at the tear tracks on his cheeks (third time he’s cried in a bathroom over Louis Tomlinson, he notes with a sigh), flushes the toilet, and exits the stall. The bathroom is almost completely empty at that point, only one of the other stalls closed, and as Harry washes his hands he takes a moment to assess his appearance in the mirror. His eyes are, expectedly, rimmed red, and his cheeks are flushed and raw with a combination of tears and January air. He’d almost forgotten he was still in his footie uniform, until he’d looked down and seen the grass-stained, rumpled kit on his body. Sighing heavily, he supposes there is nothing to be done about his disheveled appearance. He walks over to the other side of the bathroom and pulls a few paper towels from the dispenser just as a toilet flushes, and the only closed stall door in the room opens. When Louis Tomlinson walks out from behind it, Harry thinks God might hate him.

He looks like hell, and a little bit like Harry if he’s being honest. His eyes are red and puffy, but unlike Harry’s they still shine with unshed tears, and as soon as they land on Harry’s figure they harden slightly and darken to an ominous shade of gunmetal. His hair, Harry feels a pang of sadness as he realizes, is exactly how he had imagined it to look. Without the hat to hold it back it mostly falls flat, sweeping across his forehead in a delicate fringe, with the added cuteness of a halo of frizz surrounding it. His blue jacket from before is unzipped, revealing a clingy black t-shirt, and in his grip are two tiny mittens.

When Harry opens his mouth he means to say something like “Hi”, or “Are you okay”, or “I’m sorry I’m such complete shit.” What comes out is,

“When did you start dating Liam?”

“September.” The word is delivered with such bite that Harry almost winces. Louis steps over to wash his hands and as he dips his fingers underneath the spray, Harry steps in behind him.

“Why?” He asks. It’s the only thing he can think to say really, as their teary eyes lock in the dingy mirror.

“It’s really not any of your business.” He twists off the sink and moves as if to leave, and before Harry can stop himself he slams his hands down on the sink with an echoing smack. The motion brackets Louis in between Harry’s arms and the fear in his eyes is almost enough to cool Harry’s blood. Almost.

“I went looking for you, you know.” He barely manages to keep from yelling, to keep from screaming until his lungs collapse about how stupidly fucked this whole situation is. Somehow he manages to muster up the strength needed to keep his words a steady growl. “That night in the bar, I looked everywhere for you. I was going to apologize, I was going to tell you-”

The door creaks open then, its lengthy, almost unnatural sound silencing Harry’s words.

“Louis?” Shit. “You in here, babe?” Swinging open, the door thumps the wall behind it and reveals Liam, looking flushed, standing in its frame. For a short moment all Harry can do is watch as the two other people in the room stare at one another, too scared to make a move or say a word. The moment ends when Louis lets out a desperate sounding sigh of,

“Li.”

Liam leaves immediately; pulling the door with him and letting its old hinges creak with the force of it.

“Shit, shit.” Louis is muttering and squirming, trying to slip out of Harry’s arms and away from what feels like his only chance.

“Louis, no,” He tries, feeling horrified at how quickly tears rise to his eyes. Louis slips through his grip easily and reaches the door quickly, and Harry’s chest starts to tighten and he can’t get a fucking grip. “Hear me out!”

“No!” Louis whips around, one hand on the door and his hair flying in the opposite direction. The taller boy feels a little less embarrassed and a little more god awful at the tears already outlining Louis’ eyes. “I’m fucking done with ‘hearing you out,’ Harry. I don’t care about what you have to say now, and I sure as hell don’t care about what you had to say in that fucking bar.” His voice rises in volume, bouncing off the walls and swallowing Harry whole. “You wanna know why I started dating Liam? Do you? It’s because he treats me right, he treats me the way I fucking deserve to be treated. He doesn’t toss me out after I suck him off, he doesn’t insult me when he’s being too much of a pussy to own up to what’s right under his fucking nose, and he doesn’t ignore me for days only to show up drunk and looking for a fucking hand job!” Louis’ is panting at this point, wiping roughly at the crystalline droplets cascading down his rosy cheeks. “I’m going to find my fucking boyfriend.”

Harry is left speechless, mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. A fish with the idiotic tendency to fuck up everything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done!!

“Liam!” Louis’ jogs down the empty halls, feeling every bit as hollow as he searches for his boyfriend.

Every step the small boy takes echoes around him, caving him in a wall of inescapable sound that falls rhythmically in to the rapid ‘thumpthumpthump’ of his heartbeat. He’d been doing so good, so good, before today, before Harry Styles decided to pop his stupid fluffy head in and ruin it all. Now months of eating lunch in the library, holding Liam’s clammy palms in the hallways, and ignoring Zayn’s all too knowing looks are worthless. The walls he’d built around himself are all crumbling in now, and all he wants is to curl up in Liam’s arms and pretend he doesn’t really exist.

“Liam!” He shouts in a breathless tone as he shoves open a heavy door leading outside, and even though the cold air bites into his cheeks he is still grateful for the figure he finds trudging along the alleyway outside of the locker rooms. “Li!”

“What?” The taller boy croaks as he turns, and as Louis runs up to him it only takes a second to realize Liam has never looked this way. His eyes are blazing with a passion the smaller boy can’t quite name (certainly nothing he’s ever witnessed while Liam reads or plays footie), his jaw is clenched and popping slightly, the usually faded veins that outline his face and neck are now protruding and dark, his skin an unnatural shade of brick red. Liam is angry, with him.

“Liam I,” Louis stutters for a moment, realizing in horror that he doesn’t know what to say, that even in Liam’s presence Harry has still left him speechless.

“I am so sorry.” Is what he settles for.

“I know.” Liam begins to turn as if to leave, and Louis panics, reaching out and gripping his bicep.

“W-wait, Li”

“Yeah? And why should I?” Liam thunders, leaving Louis to flounder up at him. “I’ve been waiting, Lou. For fucking years I’ve been waiting for you to realize that Harry doesn’t deserve someone like you, that I’ve been the one making you laugh and wiping your tears all this time. And… And I know it isn’t your fault that I’ve been fooling myself all along, I know that I can’t expect you to fall in love with me the way I have with you, but for fuck’s sake, Louis. I always thought you respected me; at least enough to not drag me along thinking my chance had finally come, only to find you in Harry’s arms. I guess you’re just not the person I thought you were.”

This time when Liam turns to leave, Louis doesn’t try to stop him. Instead he watches, tears rising in his throat as his best friend’s body retreats into the distance before turning towards the school’s parking lot. Louis wants to fight him, he wants to kick and scream and argue with him but there’s no point. Every one of Liam’s words had been achingly true, and all Louis is left with now is the simple fact that he is the worst friend, boyfriend, and just the worst human being really.

The shuddering boy is only allowed one quiet sob before the locker room door is being swung open behind him. 

“Oh, hello…” The snide tone rings through Louis’ ears and fills his bones with rage. He swipes at the tears on his face quickly before turning around.

“Suck my dick, Grimshaw.” He isn’t expecting to see most of the football team surrounding the taller boy, but he isn’t too bothered by it either. In fact, he is much more enraged by the condescending laugh that bursts its way from Nick’s throat.

“I’d bet you like that wouldn’t you, Tomlinson. Having two boys lusting after you just isn’t enough, yeah? A slut like yourself needs three to feel whole?” With every word Nick takes a wide step forward, resulting in his muggy breath fanning out over Louis’ face with every exhale. The snickers that roll in from the rest of the team deepen the red on Louis’ flaming cheeks, and the situation as a whole causes his nose to crinkle with disgust.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spits the lie between gritted teeth; the glaring eyes that surround him making the instinctive need to defend himself grow within his chest.

“Please,” The smirking boy takes another step forwards, and Louis can’t help but wince as his back smacks into the brick wall behind him. “You’re trying to get me in your pants when you’ve already got Liam wrapped around your finger? And it’s pretty clear to anyone who isn’t completely blind, that we lost the game today because Harry was too busy ogling your arse.”

“Maybe you lost the game because you’re a shit goalie.” Louis seethed in response, finding joy in the way it makes Nick’s jaw jump and clench.

“We lost the game because you are an insufferable little faggot.” At this point Louis can think of a thousand and one things to say that would break Nick’s spirit, that would turn him into a quivering puddle of tears on the pavement below their feet, but even with all of the colorful vocabulary Louis has in his arsenal the best course of action still seems to be spitting in Nick’s smarmy little face.

The first swing from Nick’s fist comes seconds after Louis’ thick glob of saliva makes contact with his cheek, and it lands square into Louis’ nose. The smaller boy reels back, clutching his face as pain erupts from beneath the skin. Moments later he’s being kicked to the ground, a foot punting into his stomach repeatedly and making his vision blurry. Shouts surround them and people pick their sides, some joining in and taking their own hits at Louis’ lax body, and some attempting to pull Nick away from the small, bleeding boy.

Louis passes out within minutes, too far gone to notice as the clouds erupt into small flurries, snow mingling with the dirt caked into his hair. 

…

As Harry slams his front door shut that evening, he can’t help but jump at the soft voice that calls from the living room.

“How did your game go, honey?”

“Jesus Christ, mum.” Harry mutters as he makes his way into their spacious living room. All the walls are painted a deep golden shade of yellow and the floors are a dark reddish mahogany, the floorboards sparkle and shine under the large chandelier hanging in the center of the room (Harry is fairly certain his mum fucked the man who shined them, but, whatever). The fake Christmas tree still stands tall and proud by the stone fireplace, Harry refuses to take it down considering he decorated it himself, and a fire crackles and pops beside it. His mum is lounging on the long white couch, stroking their puffy gray cat with one hand (Dusty purrs at the affection and Harry thinks life would be simpler if he were in his shoes. Paws. Whatever.), and nursing a glass of wine with the other. “You scared me.” 

The woman glances up at him with golden green eyes, much like his own, and her expression immediately sours.

“What’s wrong?” She asks him, setting down her glass as her skin crinkles with motherly concern. “Sit down and talk to me.”

A lump that Harry can’t explain rises in his throat as he does so, lifting Dusty and carefully placing him into his lap. There’s something so comforting about the way his mother’s silky robe rubs against his cheek, and the way her familiar hands tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and Harry hadn’t known just how badly he missed the smell of his mother’s perfume until this very moment, until the scent of lilac and lemon invaded all his senses at once. The boy, much taller than his mum at this point, rests his heavy eyelids as he relaxes into her side, finding a great difficulty in swallowing.

“Talk to me, Harry.” She singsongs lightly. Harry knows he doesn’t have too, knows that if he were to refuse she would drop it immediately, but at this point running from his problems has grown to become a bore.

“We lost the game today.” The words hurt around the threat of tears that bulges in his throat, and it’s not really the beginning of the problem, not even close, but it’s a start.

“Nick’s fault?” She questions, and Harry can’t help but snort. When she would come to his games as a child she would always throw a fit over Nick, she would yell at him from the stands until Harry’s father begged her to behave, to not scream at the children. It never failed to make Harry and Gemma giggle at one another from across the field.

“Yeah,” (It’s not entirely true, but not entirely false either) “Nick’s fault.”

“There’s something else that’s bothering you.” she pushes, and Harry simply squirms under her arm. “Oh, Harry. Do not try and hide things from your mother.”

He shrugs, unable to make any words form, as he fiddles with the cross hanging from his neck. His mother chuckles softly.

“Since when are you religious, huh?” She shakes him lovingly and Harry can’t help but smile up at her. “You used to cry when I would drop you and Gemma off at Sunday school.”

“Dunno,” He lies again. “Just found it.”

“You know that’s your father’s, right?” And yeah. Harry does know that, he’s known his whole life and to be perfectly honest it’s the only reason he’s wearing it. Every time Harry feels himself getting lost in his thoughts that don’t make sense, or even worse are the ones that do, it’s weight against his skin serves as a constant reminder of the way his father would look at him if her ever saw how Harry looks at Louis.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, his voice breaking before he can fix it. His mum inhales deeply through her nose.

“Harry,” she begins, her voice soft and lovely against Harry’s flushed skin. “I know these past few years haven’t been easy, nor have they been very fair to you. And I know that much of that has to do with me, and the decisions that I’ve been making. But I’ve been thinking about it, really thinking about it. I’m seeing a proper therapist and everything, and things aren’t going to be like that anymore; I’m going to be there for you from here on out. Just like I should have always been. Okay?”

“Okay.” Harry chokes out, his eyes are burning and his chest feels heavy with a feeling he hasn’t felt in so, so long; what it feels like to be loved, to be cared for. It’s nice and warm and fuzzy and Harry never wants to leave this place, here with his mum and his cat, and his silver Christmas tree.

A pounding on the front door startles the two out of their seats, sending Dusty to the floor where he grumpily stalks off in another direction. His mum is the first to respond, immediately speeding over to where the glass and wood are shaking together, her robe billowing behind her. She opens the door with as much force as her arms will allow, clearly sending the message that she did not want to be bothered, but her expressions softens almost immediately.

“Oh, Zayn. Gosh, come in, Sweetie. You must be freezing.” Harry watches from the couch and immediately feels his stomach drop as his eyes lock on Zayn’s skinny figure. His usually stoic and blank expression is replaced by one of anxiety and fear, his hair tied messily on top of his head, the dark circles under his eyes contrasting greatly with the flush settling on his cheeks.

“Zayn?” The shorter boys burnt umber eyes grow wider still as they land on Harry’s. “What’s going on, mate?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“Wha-”

“Just promise me,” He rounds around the couch, sitting Harry and himself down with two steady hands on the taller boy’s biceps. “That you will try to stay calm.”

“Yeah, I promise. Zayn, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s Louis.” Harry’s blood runs cold.

“What happened?”

“He’s going to be alright, Harry.” His grip tightens uselessly.

“What happened?” Harry’s voice steadily rises in volume, nausea washing over him in steady waves.

“He’s in the hospital. Some guys from the football team, they cornered him in the alley behind the locker rooms, they beat the shit out of him but he’s going to be okay.”

“What?” Harry shouts as he stands, his mum running over and placing a delicate hand over his shoulder. Harry had forgotten she was in the room.

“He’s going to be fine, Harry. I promise you he’ll be fine. He’s got a broken nose, it’ll take some time to heal, but the doctor doesn’t think it will be hard to set back into place. Very little cartilage displacement and all that. He’s got some nasty bruises and scrapes, some swelling as well, but nothing else. He’s going to heal just fine. Harry, please sit back down.” Harry feels his fists unclench slightly from where he hadn’t known they’d been balled up, he sits down slowly with his teeth grinding together.

“Who did it?” He asks, trying to keep the anger from his voice, because that’s not what Zayn deserves. But it’s so hard not to when he doesn’t know who he has to blame yet. The taller boy doesn’t miss the look of rage that crosses over Zayn’s features as he sits beside Harry.

“Nick.” He replies through gritted teeth, and Harry’s blood roars. “Nick, and some other guys from the footie team were pissed about losing, and I guess Louis said something to Nick and-”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay to break his fucking nose!”

“I know, Harry. I know that.” Zayn’s smaller hands push him down harder this time, forcing him into a rigid sitting position on the couch. “Niall came ‘round and saw it happening after he stopped looking for you. Most of them were trying to pull Nick off. Niall helped them out, and I- I don’t know where Nick went after that. Louis he… he looked so bad Niall felt like he needed to call an ambulance before he could tell you. He was in the waiting room of the hospital when he texted me about it. He was too scared to come tell you in person.”

Harry initially is furious. Niall was there, right there, how could he let Nick just walk away? But he breathes, reminds himself that Zayn went out of his way to talk to him in person, and Niall called an ambulance for Louis, and apparently stayed with him long enough to find out exactly what was wrong with him. Neither of them have done anything wrong, they did everything right actually. It’s Harry, he’s the one that got Louis all mixed up in this, he’s the reason that Louis has a broken nose.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, his throat burning, just completely unable to hold back his anger anymore. “Where is he now? Is he still at the hospital?”

“No,” Zayn speaks softly, running his slender fingers through Harry’s hair in an attempt to calm him. “Niall’s driving him home right now.”

“Niall is driving him home?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Harry stands abruptly, feeling like his legs are on fire with how hotly his veins are boiling. “Where does he live?”

“Harry,” Zayn rises to lock eyes with the taller boy. “Going to see him might not be the best idea, at least not yet.”

“I know.” And he does. He can’t even imagine how angry Louis must be right now, or what he’ll do when he’s met with the sight of him all broken. But there’s too much nothing being done if he just sits in his house crying to his mum. He owes Louis so much, this is where he can begin to repay his debts. “But I have to do it.”

Zayn sighs, and there’s a long moment where nothing is said between the two. Harry just waits while Zayn studies his face for a minute, before he sighs again and pulls his phone from his back pocket.

“I’ll call Niall and ask him.”

“Thank you.” Harry breathes out; some of the frustration knotting up in his stomach dissipating. It feels slightly wrong to Harry, not being angry when he should be, but he’s glad that he won’t be quite so tightly wound when he sees Louis.

Harry sits on the couch with his mum while Zayn talks to Niall on the phone in the other room. As she rubs large circles into Harry’s back he can practically feel the questions burning inside her, can sense her confusion in the air. But she doesn’t say a word, the two sit in silence, the only noises are Harry’s harsh breathing and the bells on Dusty’s collar jingling as he rubs his sides on Harry’s legs.

Zayn walks back into the room and Harry rises immediately, barely noticing the way his mother’s hand tightens and grips the back of his shirt. 

Zayn sighs before speaking. “Come on, I’m taking you to Louis’ house.”

Harry grabs his coat quickly, throwing it on and walking around the couch in a manner that upsets Dusty greatly, before sparing one last glance at his mum.

“Go,” She says, her eyes full of concern and understanding. “We’ll talk tonight.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hey! last chapter! wild!

The car ride is silent, Zayn’s engine sputters and clicks with every red and green light, but neither boy makes any effort to speak to the other. It’s snowing, it has been for a couple hours, but none of it is sticking to the ground. The roads are wet and lined with dirty slush, Harry closes his eyes and tries to calm his nauseous stomach by thinking only of his Christmas tree, the garland on his mantle, the cinnamon pinecones on the coffee table. It doesn’t work.

His eyes are still closed when the car rolls to a stop, he can hear Zayn crank the shift and put the car in park, but can’t bring himself to open them. There’s a beat pumping in his chest and his ears that doesn’t feel like his own, and all he can do is breathe heavily through his nose and try not to puke.

“Harry, hey, look at me.” Zayn’s voice is soft, Harry opens his eyes slowly, looking over at his friend. “You’re gonna be okay, and so is Louis. I don’t know exactly what’s going on between the two of you, but I know that everything is gonna be alright.”

Harry’s brain wants to not believe him, he wants to tell Zayn that there is no way in hell he could know something like that, but the way he says it, and the way his eyes bore so surely into Harry’s make it impossible. The bile in Harry’s throat sinks a little bit, his burning eyes well with tears.

“Thank you, Zayn.” He says through the grit in his throat, unbuckling his seatbelt with clumsy fingers and reaching to open the car door.

“Wait, Harry, hold on.” Harry waits, his palm sweating on the handle, beat thrumming through his fucking brain. “I love you. Niall loves you. Your mum and Gemma both love you so much. Hell, even Cara loves you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah I know that Zayn.” A tear rolls down Harry’s cheek as his throat tightens “I know.”

“None of that is gonna change, no matter what comes next none of that love is going anywhere. Alright? You know that?”

Harry leans over the center console, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, slim even under his thick winter coat, and ducks his face in his neck, probably soaking him with his tears. “Yeah, Zayn. I know that.”

Zayn’s skinny arms wrap tightly around Harry’s waist, pulling him as closely as he can with the awkward shape of the car. They stay like that for a moment, Harry letting out months, maybe years of stress, into the fabric of Zayn’s clothing.

“I gotta go,” Harry says, lifting himself into a sitting position and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat. “I gotta go see Louis.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be alright.” And Harry believes it a little bit. His heart beat is still giving him a headache and he feels like he might faint once he stands up, but instead of keeping him glued to the seat it all pushes him forward, knowing that nothing is gonna change until he gets this done, until him and Louis fucking talk to each other for once. 

“Thank you, Zayn.” He says, opening the car door and stepping outside. “I-just… Thanks.”

Zayn smirks back with an all knowing grin. “No problem, mate. Go get your boy.”

Harry shuts the car door and steps back with his hands in his pockets, and as Zayn pulls out of the driveway and slowly turns down the road Harry thinks to himself about how he doesn’t deserve a friend like Zayn. 

The yard Harry is standing in is full of toys, the grass soaked and muddy under his shoes, sloshing with his movements as he walks slowly up to the white wooden porch. The house is light blue with a white trim, the corners a little chipped and the shutters a little crooked. The light emerging from each small window is yellow and warm, the curtains checkered and thin. As Harry walks up the front steps the wood creaks beneath his feet, and a single porch light comes on, illuminating the dusk around him and filling him with a comforting sense of home. Harry reaches for the door knocker before he can convince himself not to, and brings it down three solid times. 

The door opens almost immediately, and standing in Harry’s presence is a short woman with brown hair and big blue eyes, she looks pale and distraught, her hair pulled up tight into a stringy ponytail, threadbare sweatshirt littered with old bleach stains, sleeves pulled up to her elbows and a dishrag in her hand.

“Yes?” She says, clearly tired and stressed.

“Uh, hi. My name’s Harry… I’m here to see Louis?” He stutters, feeling nervous and shaky, and suddenly guilty for bothering this woman, who he assumes to be Louis’ mum, when she is already having an awful day. 

“Harry? Louis’ never talked about a Harry…” She cocks her hip, looking Harry up and down as if looking for evidence that will link him to Louis.

“I just… I heard about what happened, and I wanted to come and talk to him.”

She considers this for a moment before responding. “I suppose it won’t do to send you back into the cold. Come inside.” 

She steps to the side and starts walking towards the back of the house and Harry wipes the slush off his feet before closing the door behind himself and following her. She leads him into a small kitchen. The floors and countertops are all white, the latter cluttered with snacks and dishes, most of the wooden cabinets are wide open. In the center of the room there’s a long dining table, with four young girls all seated around it quietly doing homework. Two of them appear to be in primary school while the other two seem to be aged around year seven or eight. The woman who led him in drops her dish rag off at the sink before walking around the table towards the front of the house and leaning against one of the walls.

“Are you friends with that Irish boy?” She asks, still seeming suspicious of Harry.

“Niall? Yeah, he’s one of my best mates.”

“He got my boy to and from the hospital today.”

“I heard about that.” There’s something sad in her eyes that Harry can’t quite place.

“I wanted to be there, but I had work and afterwards I had to get my girls home from school. I couldn’t get a babysitter.” Harry didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. “I’m gonna go check on him first, see how he’s doing.”

“Okay.”

“My name is Jay, by the way, I forgot to introduce myself.” She offers Harry and hand that he shakes in a way that he hopes is comforting, his heart aching for her.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. It seems like Louis’ got all sorts of friends and enemies that I know nothing about.” She says before turning around and walking quietly upstairs, Harry hears the soft click of a door before the only sound left is the soft scratching of pencils as Louis’ sisters work at the table. 

Harry stumbles slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself, before leaning against one of the counters, and taking in the house. It’s small and homey, all over the walls there are children’s drawings and scribbles, framed photos of the girls as babies, and report cards with straight A’s in social studies and maths. On the fridge Harry sees a face he recognizes, a yearbook picture where Louis can’t be much older than six, his fringe messy and school uniform askew, his bright blue eyes, long lashes, and crooked teeth. Harry feels anger boil in him at the thought of anyone hurting that boy, hurting a son and a brother, someone who is so loved, and so undeserving of being punched in the fucking nose. 

“Are you Louis’ boyfriend?” A small voice says, making Harry jump and turn back towards the table. The younger two girls are staring at him with wide eyes, the older two a little more guarded but curious all the same. 

“What?” 

“Are you Louis’ boyfriend?” The girl closest to him says again, she’s one of the younger ones, her hair tied up into pigtails with blue ribbon. 

“Louis has boyfriends.” The other young one chimes in, looking very proud of herself. Her hair is braided down the length of her back. “He’s gay. Do you know what gay means? I do.”

“I do too!” The girl with pigtails shouts as both of the older girls erupt into giggles. 

“I-uh.” Is all Harry says before Jay is coming down the stairs and walking back into the room. The girls try to conceal their laughter and fail miserably, but Jay doesn’t seem to care, just shoots them a wary look before turning back towards Harry.

“Sorry I took so long, I wanted to change the dressing on one of his scrapes, those nurses over there don’t know what they’re doing.”

“No, that’s okay, that’s okay.” Harry says quickly, hoping his red cheeks aren’t too noticeable. “Can I go see him?”

“He’s actually sleeping right now. That’s why I had to change the dressing, he won’t let me near him when he’s awake.” She smiles softly to herself. “I think it would be best to let him rest. He’s had a hard day.”

“That’s okay! I don’t mind if he’s asleep, I… I’d just really like to see him… Please.” Harry blushes harder at how desperate he sounds, but knows that it’s okay because that’s how desperate he feels. 

Jay considers him for a moment, crossing her arms over her chest and saying, “Fine, alright. His room is upstairs. The door is open. Don’t wake him up.”

Harry mutters a quick ‘thank you’ before walking past her, and walking up the staircase as quietly as possible. Once he reaches the second floor it’s easy to figure out which room is Louis’, because the door is open a crack and there’s a piece of paper taped to the door that says ‘L O U I S’ in big childlike writing. The hard part is actually opening the door. Harry grips the doorknob and breathes hard, putting his body through the motions despite the fact that his mind is screaming at him to just stop, to go home, to leave Louis alone. 

Louis’ blankets are blue and his pillows are white, the paint on his walls is yellow and he has a lot of old, creased footie posters tacked up everywhere, he’s got a stuffed lion by his dresser, and there are pictures of him and Eleanor all dressed up for school plays taped to his mirror, he’s got dried blood all over his face, all over it, and the skin under his eyes is bruised and black, there’s some stuff shoved up his nose, like tissue but thicker, his nose is purple in some places, and blue in others, his arms are all wrapped up under the blankets, Harry can’t see any scrapes, his mum must have tucked him in.

He’s breathing softly, so softly, Harry thinks he’s an angel. 

He stays for an hour before Louis starts to wake up a little, the older boy becomes panicked suddenly, worrying that Louis will be angry with him, that he’ll upset him all over again. But Louis turns to his side, blinks open his eyes, and gives him a big sleepy smile.

“You’re sitting on the floor.” He says, his brows knitting together.

“Yeah, I am.” Harry responds softly, Louis’ voice is full of sleep and Harry doesn’t want to wake him up too quickly.

“Get up.” He says, lifting open a corner of his blanket and spreading out his arms. “Come here.”

Harry does as he says, feeling tired himself from all the day’s, month’s, year’s dramas, and lies on his back next to Louis, so the smaller boy can place his head comfortably on his chest without anything touching his nose. 

“We gotta talk,” Louis says as if he’s talking to himself. “Gotta talk a lot.”

“We will.” Harry promises. “We will, but you should you go back to sleep first. You had a long day.”

“Hmm, long.” Louis mumbles, chewing slightly on the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Too long.” Harry says back, Louis doesn’t respond.

Within minutes Louis’ breathing has evened out, Harry can feel the hot little puffs of breath and count the seconds in between, can feel Louis’ gentle heart beat against his own, can feel the weight of Louis’ whole being resting against him.

Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ dirty hair, leans down to kiss his forehead, and whispers into his soft skin, “I am so sorry, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW'S THAT FOR A SUPER INCONCLUSIVE ENDING

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lemme know what you think! I'll prolly be posting the next chapter in a couple days or so


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